


Back in the Box

by crowdedangels



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, PTSD, Post episode: s01e11 The World's Columbian Exposition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 07:52:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12228684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowdedangels/pseuds/crowdedangels
Summary: He dug his keys from his pocket and ignored her protestations, weak and half-hearted though they were in her exhaustion. “Car's this way.”





	Back in the Box

**Author's Note:**

> Damn this show. Damn this ship. Thank you to everyone who saved it before I got to watch it!

The debrief was long and painful. Wyatt kept a watchful eye on Lucy, her fingers disappearing within her sleeves as she recounted being captured by George, H.H, Herman, whatever you wanted to call him.

Her eyes were dark, sunken and exhausted. She had seemed so much lighter when they walked out of the World's Fair Hotel, bidding farewell to Houdini, but he could see the moment it all came crashing back when they were in the Lifeboat. When her breathing quickened and a light sheen of sweat covered her freshly washed face. She had locked eyes with him – wide, panicked – and he reached out to grab her hand. He squeezed her fingers, kept her grounded as the orb jostled them through time periods, their knees knocking together, until they came to a sudden halt.

She took her hand back and swallowed, willed her heart to calm its furious beat before the door opened and they stepped out to an audience.

“I-I could barely lift my arms in it...the box...the-” she didn't say the word _coffin_ but Wyatt heard it. He clenched his teeth together, wishing he had done much more to the guy than just shoot him. She continued the story, how she had convinced H.H she was a psychic and rattled off facts about him she had discovered one Hallowe'en on a wine fuelled click-hole around the internet. 

They got out onto the street not long after, Wyatt feeling like three more showers, even after the one he had already had, could not rid him of the grime he felt at the memory of that room, of Lucy's face as she hugged Rufus when she was released. Whisky; whisky might do the trick.

Rufus and Jiya said their goodnights and walked for her car, hugging tightly before climbing inside and taking off.

Wyatt waved after them and turned on his heel back to find Lucy staring off to the distance. “You okay?”

“Hmm? Yeah,” she gave a weak smile, “Fine. Cold.”

She had been trying to decide where to sleep that night – Noah's and argue again about why she wanted a break, or her Mom's to argue again about her father and, also, why she wanted a break from Noah. A hotel seemed a better idea.

“C'mon.”

“Hmm?”

“You can stay at my place. I have a spare room”

“No, Wy-”

He dug his keys from his pocket and ignored her protestations, weak and half-hearted though they were in her exhaustion. “Car's this way.”

It was a short ride to his place, and she fought sleep in the gentle sway and vibration of the vehicle. He gave her shoulder a nudge when he pulled to a stop, gesturing to the apartment block up ahead. She curled her arms around herself as he opened his front door, the keys jangling loudly as he twisted them in the lock, Lucy looking around self-consciously for nosey neighbours.

His front room was small, too much furniture crammed in and newspapers and computer prints strewn over every surface with the occasional take out box. He rushed around, shuffling together what he could with an embarrassed flush colouring his cheeks. She caught the headline _'Soldier's wife found-'_ as a paper was whipped from her eyeline. “Don't, er, get company often,” he offered.

“It's fine,” she smiled. “Nice place.”

“Spare room's this way.”

She followed him down a short corridor, a door to the left open ajar in which she could make out a bath and basin, and one on the right which they passed, leading her to assume it was his bedroom. He pushed open another door after the bathroom and flicked a switch against the wall, light flooding the room. Boxes lined the far wall and a bed sat opposite, military corners on the sheets.

He slid open a box lid and dug around until he pulled out a tee shirt and sweatpants. “They'll be too big, but...”

She took them with a smile, “Thank you. For everything.”

He nodded, his mouth curving to that sheepish smirk he could do. “Bathroom's next door and I'm across the hall.”

“Got it.”

He nodded, dug his hands into his pockets and awkwardly bade goodnight.

She sat on the bed, the clothes on her lap and let herself feel the full force of exhaustion.

 

\--

 

It was the same, but different.

The same wooden box, stripes of light through the slats, no room to move.

Same smell of dust, ash and sandlewood. Same splinters digging in her legs and elbows.

Only, this time, her hands were bound. Stuck to her sides like glue. She couldn't move her arms and _oh god_ her legs, her ankles were bound too. Her lungs started to burn as the panic set in, her heart beating furiously in her chest, her ears deaf to anything but the blood rushing to them.

_Can't breathe, can't breathe, oh god-_

Her screams were barely leaving her mouth, tears streaming down her face, “Please! No! _Wyatt_!” Barely above a whisper, the noise echoing in her chest louder than it did in the room. She fought against the restraints but moved not an inch. _Please!_

“Lucy...”

The lid to the box was gone, him, _he_ was stood over her. His moustache hiding his top lip, flecks of dust caught within the whiskers, beady, vengeful eyes looking down at her. “Lucy!” he shouted at her as she tried to turn away, her eyes closing the best she could do.

Hands grabbed at her shoulders, shaking, squeezing,  _“Lucy!”_

The voice was different. Deeper. She blinked, the face changed. It wasn't  _him_ anymore, it was... Wyatt? That didn't-that didn't make any sense. 

“Lucy, it's me. Wyatt.”

She could move her arms again and pushed at him, whoever it was, her eyes not believing what they were seeing. She rolled herself off the bed, walked to the dresser and braced her arms, feeling the solid wood beneath her hands and still not quite believing. Her heart still beat the furious rhythm within her chest, she could still smell the dust, the ash, she was still  _there_ but... she was here?

“...Lucy?” 

A strangled noise left her throat while she waved a hand, asking him wordlessly to be quiet. She still needed to process, to pace the floor, shake off the nightmare that she was back there. She had one hand against her sweaty brow, the other over her chest. 

Wyatt watched her route between the dresser and closet and back for a few beats before he whispered her name again. He knew he needed to give her time and space to process, he'd seen this a thousand times with people he had served with. “Lucy, it was a nightmare. Lucy...look at me.”

She continued her pacing for a few more steps, the oversized tee shirt bunched in her crossed arms over her chest. Finally she looked to him, sat on his knees on the bed, a white tank top, grey sweatpants and sleep-mussed hair. “It's me. You're in my apartment. You're safe.”

Her dark eyes were wide and he could see her chest still rising with rapid, short breaths. “You're sure?”

“Positive. Trust me.”

Cue the embarrassment. “Oh god, Wyatt, I'm so sorry,”

“Don't apologise.”

“No, but-”

“Come back to bed,” he said, swallowing as the words left his mouth. “Lie down, breathe.”

She pursed her lips, but did as told. Crawling back under the covers, she clasped her hands over her stomach as the bed jostled as Wyatt began to leave. “Wy-Wyatt?”

“Hmm?” He turned back. 

“Would...” She sighed, having difficulty saying the words. “Would you stay?”

He swallowed, not entirely sure that was the best idea, but she still looked feared to death and vulnerable. He had seen her scared, confused, but rarely vulnerable. He climbed in next to her, his arms at his side, much like when they last shared a bed.  _Yeah, so comforting, Logan,_ he thought. “C'mere,” he stretched an arm out above her head and encouraged her to tuck into his side, her head on his chest and his hand against her arm. 

She splayed her fingers over his ribs, taking a deep breath and telling herself to calm. “Thank you.”

He drew shapes across her bare arm, closing his eyes to the feel of a warm body curled around him again. “Anytime.”

 


End file.
